Spike saunters into a bar near Wolfram and Hart, a plastic card in
his hand. "Double scotch," he orders, "but only the good stuff." He
turns to check out the rest of the crowd and spots Harmony
Kendall. "And a drink for the lady too." Harm gives him a suspicious
look when he comes over. "Don't worry," he says, "it's on Angel's
tab." He turns to the bartender. "Hey! Free drinks for everyone
tonight!"

He leaves the card on the bar.

Two

Spike and Harmony are making out in the front seats of the
Viper. There's not much room to move, but they're limber. Spike's got
his head flung back against the driver-side window, his knee grazing
the steering wheel while she crouches over to blow him. At the
critical moment his leg kicks out and cracks half the windscreen.

They hear footsteps on concrete as Spike hurriedly zips himself up
and Harm wipes her mouth. Gunn peers through a window.

"What?" he says. "You couldn't have waited till you got out of the
garage?"

Harm shakes her head sadly while Spike stares at the clutch.

Three

He stands in the hallway of Harmony's flat while she fixes the
bedroom. He can hear her picking up stuff from the floor and rummaging
through drawers.

The flat and the furniture came with her job so she's been trying
to make it look "homey". Since Spike was here last, she's added a
motivational print and a vase: teamwork killer whales and synthetic
roses.

"Ready!" Harm shouts.

Four

She's got the lamp turned low and the duvet pulled back just a
little. There are cushions padding the bedhead and a box of tissues is
in easy arm's reach. The room smells of perfume and lipgloss.

Harmony's leaning against the door to the bathroom, her chest
thrust out and a hand on her hip. She tosses back her hair as Spike
advances.

Then the music starts and he stops in his tracks. "No, Harm," he
says. "Not Jennifer Rush."

Five

Her skirt's rucked up as she sits at the end of the bed, doing a
little strip-tease. She kicks off one shoe, running a hand up her
thigh before she kicks off the other. She pulls open her shirt with a
mimed "Ta-da!" as if her breasts should somehow surprise him.

The bra's turquoise satin with highlights of pink lace: Spike
kneels to press lips to her cleavage. When she pulls down a strap,
Spike sucks in a nipple.

This is why he first made her acquaintance.

Six

Harmony's beautiful, a fact he sometimes forgets. Flawless skin
spread out below him, curves and hollows looking warm in the
lamplight. But when he bends to kiss her, her lips are cold and her
tongue's like an oyster. This is always the worst part for him, the
first time he sinks into clammy, wet flesh.

He doesn't know any more how Buffy could stand this.

Seven

He likes to think of Buffy as shagging her way through Rome,
taking on all the nice Italian boys and leaving them in the
dust. It'll be lunchtime now where she is, so maybe she's having a
nooner: sunlight streaming over her bed, her hair gold on the
pillow, some Italian's tanned arse pumping away.

Spike's eyes glaze over and the bed starts to creak. They've not
broken it yet, though they've chipped it.

Eight

Spike sags over Harm, unfocused eyes fixed on a spot near her
ear. She pats his head and fluffs his hair, calling him "Blondie
Bear", as if he's a performing dog who's just done a trick.

After a minute or two, she says, "Spike? Spike! My arm?" so he
hauls himself up on his elbows and pulls himself out, rolling onto his
back.

"Thanks," says Harm.

Nine

Buffy always looks so happy in these fantasies of his: carefree,
without a worry in the world. But when he shows up, the look on her
face changes, eight years of unhappy memories crashing down. Oh, she's
always pleased to see him, glad to know that he's alive, but she winds
up looking seriously at him over lattes, talking about their
relationship and what's to be done. And he can see that he's just a
burden now, baggage she has to be nice to.

Spike's always thought that if he could imagine something, it could
be done. He wants the happy ending, but can't imagine it.

Ten

"I kept telling them I'd known her the longest! Since
kindergarten, even. We used to go to Aspen together and totally spent
years at the mall. She helped me pick out my first dance dress and I
helped her get her first date. And like, nobody thought that was
important! Like she wasn't my oldest friend and my pain didn't count!
It was all, 'Oh poor Angel, poor Gunn, Fred and Wes.' None of them
knew her the way I did!"

Harm clings to him, crying, getting snot all over his chest. He
pats her back a little. He'd be more sympathetic, but she hasn't got
a soul.

Eleven

"Why unicorns?" he asks her.

"Because they're pretty, duh." She's putting her make-up back on,
after her cry. "And because no-one believes in them either."

Twelve

Harmony pulls back the bedsheet, taking his still-flaccid cock in
her hand. She looks at it speculatively as it starts to twitch.

"I can't believe you put this inside her," she says. "Slayer --
ew!"

Spike thinks about breaking her arm, throwing her across the room
and beating her with furniture until she starts fighting back, like
he's done before. But instead he seizes her wrist and asks, "Do you
want another shag or not?"

Thirteen

The funny thing about Harm as a vampire is that she still has her
limits. Half of the things Spike can think of, in or out of bed, make
her screw up her face, so he has to stick to the classics.

He has her bent now over the side of the bed, with her arse in the
air and her knees on the floor. He pounds into her, his face buried
deep in her dye-scented hair. She grips the bed and thrusts back.

He must be doing something right because she snarls and fangs a
pillow.

Fourteen

"I thought about asking Willow," Harm says. She's propped up on
her elbow with her tits in front of his nose. "You know, then maybe
people would pay more attention?"

"If she'd give me a soul," Harm says. "But then I remembered I
kept threatening to kill her and that I've kinda teased her since
first grade. But how was I to know that someone that geeky would ever
have something I want?" She flops onto her back, inconsolable.

"Oh shoot!" Harm cries, just as he's falling asleep, "I keep
forgetting!" She climbs out of bed. Spike savours the sight of her
backside through half-closed lids: her thighs are still
dripping. Maybe he's up for another round after all.

She brings back a slim book from inside a closet, but he takes it
from her when she gets back to the bed. Then he ducks his head down as
she's standing there and starts licking her out. Her knees give way
after a while, so he plants his hands on her arse cheeks, holding her
up. She almost breaks his nose as she comes.

When he looks up at her, his face wet, she presses her fingertips
to her chest to still her unbeating heart. Then she lets him fuck her
tits.

Sixteen

He pauses for a moment in the bathroom as he looks around for a
cloth. Buckets of hair-care product and bath oils, three types of
moisturiser for never-ageing skin.

Above the empty mirror is the slogan, "Be your best". Spike thinks
he's been and done that and maybe it's time to move on.

Seventeen

She kisses him on the forehead as he wipes down her neck and
chest. "You're so good to me now," she says. She pulls the bedspread
to one side so he can settle back in. But when she reaches out to turn
off the light she spots the slim book on the nightstand.

It's The Sunnydale High School Yearbook 1999 and, christ, they
all look so young, even Harmony, who wears her makeup differently these
days. Under half of the pictures are little crosses, some black and
some red. Harm has a red "x" under her name; she puts a black "x"
under Cordelia's.

Spike takes the pen from her, puts a cross under "Jonathan
Levinson". Then Harm finds him a red pen, so he can mark up Holden
Webster.

"One of mine," he says.

Eighteen

Harmony's sleeping next to him, her lips parted and
unbreathing. Spike goes on looking through the book. He finds what
he's after on a back page, the words, "Absent: Buffy Summers."

He takes the black pen and marks two little crosses under her
name. Then he puts the book down, turns off the light, and lies down
to sleep.

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